


Calling Home

by Zoe_Dameron



Series: So It Goes [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Captivity, Emotional Hurt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Propaganda, Recovery, Solitary Confinement, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:55:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron
Summary: General Organa only hears from Commander Dameron once a week now, when the First Order uses him to send her messages.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s another cold evening on base. General Organa gently pads the button on her chrono alarm, rolling wearily out of the bunk and slipping on her readers. She sits at the edge of the bed for a moment to gather her thoughts, and she sighs resignedly to herself. Pulling her robe tighter around her shoulders she thinks about her mom and dad. About Han. About those they’ve lost who’ve stayed lost. They’re due a victory.

The short walk to the Comms room is quiet. It’s late and the base has mostly gone dark. People know the routine. They’ve learned to stay away during this hour, barring an emergency.

She seats herself in front of the monitor they’ve designated for this, the one tucked away in a private corner of the room. Nursing a warm cup of green tea she waits for the three blue lights of an incoming message to blink on the console.

The messages come in once a week, and always at the same time. They’re mostly impersonal, angry missives written in cold First Order propaganda. Threats, posturing, bravado. They’re practiced on the Resistance before the messages are transmitted to the rest of the systems. The First Order think they sound tough but she’s been in the game long enough to know hollow bluster when she sees it, likely crafted by an eager neophyte or by that tyrant General Hux.

Other times, however, the messages are specifically for her, and she knows exactly who’s behind them. The words are crueler, meant to taunt and punish. Poe Dameron’s face softens imperceptibly to anyone who doesn’t know him the way she does, his anguish and apology clear in the way he looks at her through the screen as he reads the script.  

She can’t even remember how long he’s been gone at this point and she feels bad about that, but she remembers the first message like it was yesterday. There had been an attack on Jakku, and her operative had gone missing. They’d assumed the worst, that he’d been caught in the crossfire or executed after an interrogation. No one expected the face of Poe Dameron to pop up in a holo from the First Order, or for the message to be delivered by him.

He was a ghost, alive again. There was relief in that. Leia’d tried to shift her focus there, not on the obvious signs of trauma decorating his face.

It was the same then as it was now; their most admired and beloved pilot reduced to a mouthpiece of the First Order, existing only to read speeches meant to taunt the Resistance. They played him off as a defector from the rebellion, a figurehead gone rogue. There were probably people somewhere in the galaxy who believed that lie.

 _At least he’s still alive,_ she’d try to remind herself in the early days of his captivity, though as the months wore on she couldn’t help wondering if his was still a life worth living.

In the beginning, he was able to sneak messages via blinked code.

“General Organa, we wanted to tell you that your foolish attack on Ferro was unsuccessful.”

_– U – N – K – N – O – W – N – B – A – S – E – L – O – C – A – T – I – O – N –_

“Your attempts to disable the communications relay on Mustafar will prove a minor setback, I assure you.”  

_– H – A – V – E – T – O – R – E – A – D – T – H – I – S –_

“We will scatter your meddlesome rabble to the ends of the galaxy unless you bend to the will of the First Order.”

_– F – O – R – G – I – V – E – M – E –_

Poe’s code was caught eventually, the screen going black mid-transmission. It was another three weeks before they saw him again, his punishment visible in blacks and blues and reds they clearly made no attempt to hide. She nearly jumped at the screen when she saw him, her knuckles white at the injustice of his treatment.

He had to learn to obey to stay alive so she tries to cheer him up every chance she gets.

And so it goes for them now; Poe is forced to speak and Leia is forced to listen. She endures because he does. It’s a testimony to his strength, and she tries to stop herself from lingering on the very clear void his absence leaves in the Resistance. He was a good pilot and a great friend.

The three blue lights eventually appear, just as they do every week. She reaches forward, flips on the receiver and allows the call through.

She smiles the best she can, always happy to see Poe alive, despite the circumstances. It still unsettles her to see him in the drab grey First Order uniform they make him wear. She can tell the days when he hasn’t slept much, or when he likely mouthed off to the wrong person.

“Hi, Poe.”

She watches him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, trying to gather his composure for another one of these calls.

“The First Order stands tall as a dominant force now that the New Republic’s ashes are spread thin throughout the galaxy, to be joined soon by the ashes of the treacherous Resistance.”

Leia nods, locking eyes with Poe.

“Sweetie, Wexley and Pava wanted to say hello. They’ve been keeping Black One safe for you, of course. A new recruit tried to modify it yesterday and oh boy, you should’ve seen the commotion in the hangar. Those two won’t even let people look at it sometimes!”

People used to join these calls. They wanted to see Commander Dameron. He’d always come back worse the next week. Leia knows why. She knows Ben doesn’t want to afford Poe or Leia or anyone else any happiness. So, everyone else stays away.

She never addresses her son, because she has no son. Not after this.

He continues, trying to follow the text as slowly as possible, wanting to give General Organa enough time to speak. The First Order is long-winded but at least the call is two-way, and she’s thankful for these subtle mercies.

“We envision a world where lies of the Resistance will no longer sow chaos in the systems. Ours is a bright future in an organized galaxy. Death will come swiftly for any and all who do not comply.”

“Happy birthday, Poe. We all love and miss you. May the Force be with you, always.”

Poe smiles as much as he’s allowed but she can also see his bottom lip quiver, sees him swallow the lump in his throat. He nods back to her. His eyes are still so sad. The transmission closes, and Leia is once again surrounded in darkness.

She pulls off her reading glasses and sets them aside, wrapping her arms tightly around herself for warmth. She wishes she could tell him about the latest intel they picked up. About a signal ferreted out of clutter, a blip in an ocean of noise. She wishes she could tell him about the team on their way now to liberate a prisoner being held on a remote outer rim base, deep in First Order territory. She wishes she could tell him that his best friends are leading the charge.

Still, she smiles to herself. She’ll be able to tell him in person soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess this wasn't a one-shot after all. 
> 
> More graphic than the first chapter, but only slightly.

Sometimes, in the long dark spaces between the living world and the emptiness he inhabits now, Poe curses Luke Skywalker.

It’s the weaker bits of his mind that blame Luke. He knows that. He tries to tamp down on the unwanted bitterness and aggression, but it persists.

Growing up, Poe’s parents would tell him stories about Luke and the others. About the Jedi. The Princess. The Rogue. Those who dared, who tried, who _did_. Their adventures filled the imaginations of younglings across the galaxy, the tales of this monolith of a man and his rebellion. Proof that darkness can be overcome. Proof that the darkness can be driven away. Proof that there is hope, should that darkness ever rise again.

And yet, Poe’s whole world is darkness now.

All because Luke ran when he was needed most. Luke wasn’t strong enough. He was nothing like the stories.

Luke Skywalker, the coward.

Never have heroes.

His trust in heroes landed him here, after all. And where were the heroes now?

Sometimes he sits in the corner and stares into the darkness until he falls asleep. Sometimes he walks around his cell – not too fast, though, the sentry droid won’t allow that – but most days he just exists in the darkness while his mind wanders. He knows he’s slowly going mad. He used to claw at the walls and door, hands searching for a crack or sliver of light. He stopped tracking the days once he realized he could never count so many.  

Sometimes he wonders how he looks now. He hasn’t gotten to see himself since he was taken. To pass the hours he runs his fingers over the new scars around his head or on his face, or he feels for the ones marking his body. He must look somewhat like his old self, he figures; there are droids to maintain certain aspects of his appearance for the messages to Leia and the rest of the galaxy. They need to keep up the illusion, after all. He’s disgusted.

Sometimes he tries to remember what the sky feels like, the sensation of being under it, in it. He is fed infrequently, but his body seems heavier by the day. He feels closer to the ground, threatening to become part of it. He wonders what season it is on Yavin IV.

Sometimes he cries. He wishes he could be stronger.

It’s barely a life. He’s forced to live it because of his mission to Jakku. Because Luke Skywalker is a coward who ran when he should’ve stayed to fight with the Resistance.

There’s a pit that grows in Poe’s gut whenever he thinks about his role in the Resistance now. He tries to focus on what was, and everything he was able to accomplish when he wasn’t stuck in this black room. Still, the pit grows when his cell door opens each week for the call.

Every time, it’s the same thing.

[ _Read the screen_.]

[ _Do not deviate_.]  

[ _You will be rewarded for your compliance_.]

[ _Noncompliance will bring pain_.]

[ _Resistance will bring pain_.]

[ _Inaction will bring pain_.]

[ _Resistance will bring pain_.]

[ _Nonconformity will bring pain_.]

[ _Resistance will bring pain_.]

[ _Subversion will bring pain_.]

[ _Resistance will bring pain_.]

[ _Do not deviate_.]

[ _Read the screen_.]

He tried to fight back, at first. Tried to scream, tried to stay silent, tried to send secret messages to Leia and the crowds of people who care for him that gathered behind her. The punishments were almost unbearable.

So, he changed tactics, instead choosing to end his own life. He felt foolish for thinking they hadn’t planned on stopping him. They were always one step ahead of him, always watching, always ready.

They’ve ground him down into a dust, into clay, molded and re-purposed by the First Order. He was strong once, proud. Confident enough to smart back at Stormtroopers, interrogators, Knights of Ren. It makes sense why they’d use him this way, as some grotesque display of their power. He is nothing now, as they’ve chosen.

Though most of Poe Dameron has faded into the black background of the shadows that surround him, he holds on each week for the calls. For the only times he sees faces, real honest, living human expressions and emotions and mouths that say more to him than what will bring him pain. For the moment the message connects and he gets to see _her_ , his General. She is the only true hero from his stories that he has left.

Her soft eyes and sympathetic smile light up his entire world. She is the sun.

She offers kind words, and he tries to hold back tears. This is their dance now. He can tell it hurts her too. He wants to stop. He would give anything to just make it all stop.

But, he can’t. That’s not what they want.

So, he sits in their chair in front of the holo-screen and waits for the droid to initiate the call. The text scrolls down the monitor and he recites it slowly, letting her words remind him of a world he’s no longer part of.

She wishes him a happy birthday and something inside him breaks. It’s been over a year, then. He could cry.

The screen goes blank and he’s ushered back into his cell to wait for another week to pass. It doesn’t hit him fully until he hears the thick, heavy door lock behind him.

Poe clutches at his chest, trying to claw at the ache that’s robbing him of his breath. He lets out a whimper as he shudders, choking back at tears that he can no longer contain.

Stumbling through the pitch black that keeps him, he finds the far wall, leaning back onto it and dropping to the floor. He holds his head in his hands and sobs for what feels like hours until he’s completely spent of tears, his wet cheeks and shaking hands all that remind him of his emotions.

He looks over at the red eyes of the sentry droid that monitors him. It offers no comfort, no relief. It’s there to watch, and to prevent, and nothing more.

He’s never liked that droid, so he pulls his eyes away. The darkness can be more comforting than the constant glow of the droid’s emotionless stare, so he curls in on himself and fades into the blackness that surrounds him.

Time passes, he doesn’t know how long – never does – but when he wakes there is noise. There is never noise.

He pulls himself to a seated position and listens. It’s just outside the door, something that sounds like shouting? Like blaster fire? It’s not the sound of a mech issuing commands, for sure, and it’s not… _his_ voice, filtered and modified through the mask _he_ wears to hide under.

Poe holds his breath when the sounds come closer, wrapping his arms tight around himself as his only defense. He is panicked – has it been a week already? Has his grip on time finally completely slipped away from him? Did he mess up on the call? Have they come back to remind him why he must follow their rules? He doesn't know if he can handle another punishment. He can't, he -- did exactly as they asked, he --

The door eventually gives.

He watches as it opens slowly toward him, light pouring into his blackness.

The faces behind the sounds come into full view and Poe’s voice is caught in his throat, his eyes desperately trying to believe what he’s seeing.

He chokes out a weak cry.

It’s not Kylo Ren.

It’s not even the First Order.

It’s ---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to add that this was inspired by one of my favorite fics, the criminally under-kudos'd [smelling of junipers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9219257/chapters/20909039). Give it a read when you have the chance.
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a softness and vulnerability about General Organa that most people never see, remnants of the Alderaanian princess who was still too young for her father to involve in galactic politics.

She hides those precious shards of herself, the truly loving and light bits. The rebellions and resistances see some of it, in the goodness she is naturally, as a person, but there are a fortunate few who she shares her full self with. She pretends that she shares her full self with Poe because of how long she’s known him, and because of his family, but that’s not true. She allows herself to be real and close with him because he’s a wonderful person, plain and simple.

When Shara had died, Han was away – somewhere – as usual. Leia was the one who sat across the table at the farmhouse on Yavin IV, holding Kes’s hand as he stared down at his shaking cup of cooled caf, their boys collecting skinned knees and grass stains in the backyard, oblivious to the realities of war.

Over the years, Han stayed as gone as Shara was. There was an inevitability to the bond Leia shared with Poe’s father; running an opposition was always harder than she cared to let on, and no therapy is kinder than meeting up with old friends to watch the suns set in a different sky.

She tries to avoid it when she can, the habit she has of falling into a maternal role to those who serve under or because of her in the Resistance. It’s hard not to acknowledge the strangeness of filling that emotional space so easily, considering how her own child is the enemy they work so hard to fight against.

Maybe she was making up for how Ben turned out when she called Kes Dameron in for an important extraction mission. She had _seen_ Poe each week for stars knows how long, but she had no idea how he was faring or who he even was at that point. They could be recovering a body. An empty shell of a man. By her thinking, at least if Kes was there… well, maybe it would help Poe. Somehow.

According to the team’s reports it did, in a way. She knows much of Wexley’s report is emotional, and she couldn’t say she blamed him. There wasn’t a person on base who wasn’t affected greatly by Commander Dameron’s too-long absence and sudden return.

The details of the report were gruesome, dreadful, and predictable. She had dedicated her life to fighting this enemy, and she knew their cruelty well. Still, pouring over Wexley’s report for the dozenth time wasn’t going to help heal Poe’s scars or set his bones, wasn’t going to bring back the easy way he way he had with friends, wasn’t going to take away his heartbreaking fear of droids. Reading what they did to him wasn’t going to bring back the Poe she had known and loved like a son.

It was clear that all the details about his imprisonment were taking a toll on her, so Leia did what she could to keep herself occupied with tasks and busy work until the time she was due for the weekly call.

She took one final look at Wexley’s report before making her way to the designated communications monitor.

Sighing deeply, she slid into the well-worn seat for the final time.

The blue lights flickered on exactly as expected. She took one last long breath before switching on the receiver.

“Good evening, _General_.”

The mask and weak signal distorted his voice, but Leia still recognized it in less than a heartbeat’s time, felt the anguish of it lace through her veins.

She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms in front of her, face set to a neutral expression. She spared herself half a second to take in the sight of him. Her monstrous son, hidden away and cloaked in black like his natural form was something to be ashamed of.  

And maybe, in this case, it was.

Underneath it all, she could tell he was smiling. This was his horrible end game and he fancied himself the victor.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure you were going to accept the call now that you have your favorite pilot back. How is he, by the way? In good health, I trust?”

She didn’t bother answering him. There was little use rising to his taunts. She let out a sharp breath and concentrated on making it through the call, her expression distant and disinterested.

On the other side of the feed, Kylo Ren chuckled to himself.

“Please, give him my best. We’ve been through quite a lot together this past year. It was always a highlight of my day to hear he’d been… _naughty_.” Ren chewed on the words, visibly satisfied with himself. “I grew to enjoy our regular sessions together.”

Leia held her tongue, picturing a time in the near future when this call would be over. She could tell her silence was unexpected, that Kylo Ren hadn’t prepared to be met with indifference. He wanted the conflict, needed to bump up against someone to overpower and destroy them.

She anticipated he’d double down in response. She sure was tired of being right all the time.

He leaned forward towards the screen, body language radiating excitement.

“You know, there is an art to breaking a person down. Into making them pliable and docile and obedient,” Kylo oozed, his tone arrogant. “It’s beautiful, really. You should have seen him crumble to pieces under my hand.”

Leia remained stoic as she rested back into her chair, brow narrowing infinitesimally in response.

“In fact, if you’d like, I could show you how he fell apart. Let you see just how easy it was to shatter and reassemble this pilot you hold in such high regard.”

He reached to something just off screen and the feed changed. Leia channeled every molecule of strength she could pull from the Force to not react to the scene.

She’d seen the effects of Kylo Ren’s destruction in real time each week and she had tried not to allow her mind to speculate wildly as to the source of it. But seeing it now, clear as day, watching her son commit these horrors – she felt the pain of it all over again; the guilt, the shame, the need to wrap Poe in her arms as he screamed and pleaded for mercy, to take him away from this life of war and tragedy and suffering.

Kylo Ren was saying something over the transmission but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes remained fixed on Poe, in the thick of it _with him_ , dammit, and she blinked away the stray tear that escaped.

He was her soldier, and this was her fault. Maybe if she forced herself to endure this she’d be able to help him get well again.

The recordings seemed to stretch on forever; a year’s worth of suffering neatly condensed into a highlight reel.

She barely registered when it ended, her emotional core gutted and burned away to ash. Still, she held her head high. He’d gotten to see plenty of the pain he’d inflicted on Poe. He wasn’t going to see hers.

When he returned to the feed she watched him lurch forward in confusion, clearly expecting the satisfying look of her face swollen and wet with tears. Her arms remained crossed, her expression near unreadable.

She heard the small sound of him opening his mouth to speak before deciding against it, hesitating a moment and then beginning again.

“I’d love to hear your thoughts, General. The First Order is always working towards perfection and we know there may be room for improvement.”

Leia let her eyes close and reopen again slowly, choosing to let him tire himself out. The same method worked on him as a child.

A beat of silence hung between them before he caught on she didn’t intend to respond, his growing dissatisfaction with this conversation becoming evident in the way he carried himself.

His next move was pure desperation, one she had spent a considerable amount of time preparing herself for.

The helmet hissed as he unlatched it, setting it to the side somewhere off screen. His hair was long now, wild. It had been years since she’d seen his real face. Even longer since she’d kissed him gently on the forehead each morning before he headed out for school. He preferred his hair short, then.

Showing her his face was meant to be devastating. Maybe, under different circumstances, the act could have been successful.

But the eyes glaring back at her now weren’t Ben’s. They belonged to a corruption of someone who had been wonderful, once. There was no coming back from this.

She swallowed down the truth of it; her son really was gone.

He moved to speak again, exceptionally agitated, chewing on his bottom lip trying to find the right thing to say. She knew he was looking for the perfect combination of words, the exact phrase that could slice through her to her heart, to knock her down and keep her there. As if a life fighting this endless war hadn’t already done that for him.

“Well?!” was his noblest attempt. She suppressed her laughter.

Leia leaned forward in her chair for the first time. She studied the screen, eyes combing over every inch of the face of the child she once knew and loved. He shifted uncomfortably, shaking with barely-suppressed rage.

“You really have nothing to say? The _great General Organa_ , finally cowed into silence?!”

The General slowly rose to her feet, shaking her head in regret. She turned to look at him once more, eyes desperate to find a shred of humanity in him. A smile pulled at the edge of her mouth, a trait she’d picked up from all those years with Han. He had a way of expressing his endless disappointment and sadness with a look.

Finally, she spoke. It was everything she’d been holding in for the past year.

“Goodbye, Ben.”

She didn’t bother closing out the feed, didn’t linger to watch him react. Her son was gone. Other people needed her more, now.

The path to the medical center wasn’t a long one and she found herself standing in the doorway to Poe’s room sooner than she had anticipated. The weight of what just happened pulled at her, threatened to drag her under, but she brushed it aside. It could be dealt with later. There was always more later.

His room was dimly lit and the sentient staff assigned to watch over him had all left for the evening.

Poe was asleep and she took a moment to watch the way his chest gently rose and fell to the beeping of the medical machines that surrounded him. In this soft light he almost looked like the Poe she had sent away on that rotten mission to Jakku. The nagging regret of that decision tried to pull at her too, and she felt a twinge in her gut the longer she thought about it, nearly losing herself in remorse.

“Nice to see you, General.”

She turned to follow the voice, so soft and good and familiar.

She smiled at him, taking his hands in her own. “Nice to see you too, Finn. Working late tonight?”

He nodded. “He spent so much time alone. I didn’t know him before this, but… I don’t want him to have to wake up here alone. Not ever again.” His response was low, barely above a whisper. A subtle respect for the man’s rest.

Finn was kind – exceptionally so – especially for an ex-Stormtrooper. His defection to their side was a definite boost of morale for the Resistance, even one still reeling from the recent loss of their Commander.

They both looked over at Poe, each seeing someone different. Finn would have loved the Poe from before all of this. She hoped they could get him back.

She turned to face Finn again, pulling him close and affecting the same whisper he had just used.

“I need to you to watch over him, okay?” The tears she had been holding back all night were gathering at the edges of her vision, ready to flood the room and drown all three of them. “The fact that you’re here for him now… I – I don’t think you know just how much this means to me Finn, honestly. If anyone can help bring our Poe back, it will be you.”

She swallowed her grief down, trying to stop the overwhelming feeling of it all with a shaky smile.

“I understand, ma’am. I’ve heard the stories, and – I’ll do what I can. The Resistance has done so much for me, it’s only right.”

Leia doesn’t ask which stories he meant – who Poe was, or what the First Order had done to him – it doesn’t matter. She pulled him into a trembling hug, her small frame pressed up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

They held each other silently, finding comfort in the simple act of human contact. From the corner of her eye she looked over at Poe again, sleeping peacefully.

She let her head rest against Finn’s shoulder and smiled to herself.

She’d wasted so much time regretting the family she’d built and lost that she almost missed the one that built itself around her.


End file.
